


Thin White Skin

by chaya



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Character Turned Into Vampire, Domestic Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Violence, Starvation, Torture, Vampires, Violence, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-06 16:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1864389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/pseuds/chaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Steve. You're so cold. What happened to you?"</p><p>"I joined the army."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluandorange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/gifts).



> This is a weird AU thought-dump type thing and it is completely bluandorange's fault.
> 
> A note about the tags - as I wrote this I started to notice that a lot of this involves people in romantic relationships who end up physically fighting. The fighting is superpowered/supernatural, not very 'realistic' by any stretch, but it's people who love each other hurting each other, so I've tried to tag it to warn for that in case it could affect someone. So, just be aware.

It's not that the serum didn't work - Erskine's studies of the mythological and supernatural were beyond even Red Skull's. (Erskine tells Rogers in private that the facial deformation was from the sun. A few people have gotten their hands on real vampire blood in the past, but nobody, until now, has determined how to solve the vulnerability to daylight.)

Erskine _had_ done it. The subject had become immortal. So much faster, so much stronger, keener senses, everything promised.

But they had expected he'd get  _taller_ , for some reason.

**

There'd been a spy at the transformation. Erskine was dead. The last of the blood spilled, corrupted, to the floor.

Steve chased the man down and drank him in the street.

**

The super-soldier experiments lost funding before long. Erskine's notes had always been intentionally encrypted, half of it in his head instead of his journal. Nobody living knew how to keep Steve's hunger at bay. Nobody knew what to do with him. Carter stared at him when he underwent endless tests - drawing blood that didn't turn others, refusing to try to turn anybody else because nobody can promise him he wouldn't just kill them by accident. They couldn't even promise that they can reproduce the part of the serum that kept Steve from shriveling in the sun.

Steve stayed away from Carter as often as possible. He was always high-strung, angry over nothing, and she knows it's because he gave up something of himself to help his country and now they won't even let him enlist.

She knows it's also because the pig's blood isn't cutting it.

**

Steve escapes the labs sometime in the night. Peggy knows where he's going and doesn't tell anyone. He deserves to go to Europe if he wants. He deserves to fight. He gave his life for it.

**

"Steve. You're so cold. What happened to you?"

"I joined the army."

**

Steve slaughtered the HYDRA goons because he could. Because he needed to. Because they took Bucky and hurt him and Steve could smell the wrongness in his friend's blood, the way they'd tainted it. He tore limbs and chased down armored vans and snapped necks. It wasn't until he'd gotten every rescued man headed towards the nearest Allied camp, until he coerced Bucky to sit on a tank, to rest, just for a little while, until Bucky finally nodded off, that Steve could do it. Steve raced back to the burning embers and tire tracks and the faint moans of the enemies not quite killed. He could finally drink again. Finally.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve could go anywhere he wanted to. It wasn't even that he was so small and light - it's that he was  _fast_ , wickedly fast, and his eyes used to be hopeless but now he could run in the dark without making a sound, without snapping a twig.

He slipped into Bucky's tent and slid in behind him, mouth always closed, lips pressed tightly together. He fell asleep with his nose pressed against Bucky's neck, the steady rhythm, the smell of his pulse.

**

He scared the men. The Commandos didn't join because they weren't scared, they followed because they could see that they weren't the target of Steve's wrath. The wiry little arms and gaunt, pale face with the death glare, it was all unsettling and deadly, but it was always pointed in the right direction. He gave them plenty of distance, plenty of space to any locals they met with, not even gentle because he never even touched. The only physical contact was the brute strength he unleashed on Hydra. Weapons caches were destroyed, intel was intercepted, enemies were neutralized. They ran into Allied troops every now and again and dropped off whatever they've found. Coordinates, plans. They already had it all memorized.

They got offers to join back up, warnings that they were technically AWOL, but it was hard for them to feel intimidated by anything when their new 'Captain' could literally rip someone's head off.

**

He never drank in front of them. They always camped a few miles off from the wreckage, and if the men ever noticed that he disappeared for an hour or so, came back calmer, they didn't say anything.

**

Bucky learned he had to beg for it. The drunken fumblings in a freezing Brooklyn apartment were too sweet to forget, no matter how much they were regretted later, no matter how they tinged Bucky's fear with a little relief when he got drafted.

(This was his chance to keep himself from ruining Steve's life.)

Steve wouldn't give it to him. He would come every night, pressing so close Bucky thought Steve wanted to suck all the warmth out of him and then some, but he didn't  _touch_ , didn't let himself be touched, and Bucky craved it. Needed to know his Steve was still in there somewhere in that unfamiliar body, the thin white skin and the dark eyes that used to be blue.

They were weathering a storm in the middle of Austria when Bucky dropped his pride. He barely whispered, barely vocalized, knowing Steve could hear him.  _Please_  and  _I need it_  and  _I won't let you hurt me_.

The last one was really a lie. They both knew if Steve wanted to pin him down there wouldn't be a damn thing Bucky could do about it. Nobody was sure what Zola did before Steve saved him, but it definitely didn't match up to Steve's strength.

Steve made a warning sound that devolved into a terrible hiss and Bucky bit back a sob, needing it more now, needing proof that this was still his friend. He risked a shaky hand running through the short hair along Steve's neck, his scalp, until Steve finally rolled on top and pulled Bucky's shirt off, careful not to rip, touching and groping but never, ever kissing, never licking, his mouth a solid thin line as he reached into Bucky's pants and got him off. It's not what Bucky wanted, but it was something.

**

Bucky's semiautomatic jammed and his sidearm's magazine was empty. He was pinned in the corner of the warehouse and staring into the barrel of something blue-tinged and awful when he saw the familiar blur, the horrible scream muffled behind a mask, blood arcing across the floor in angry jagged lines as Steve tore through the protective armor and into the soft flesh underneath. The man was still gurgling when Steve got up, walked to him, caressed his cheek with a stained, wet hand.

He told Bucky he was safe now.

**

Bucky felt the metal slip under his hands, felt himself lose his grip and felt nothing under his feet, wind rushing up on all sides. He saw Steve getting smaller and smaller.

**

"Drink. You have to. Wake up. Drink."

There was something dripping against his lips, something thick and copper-smelling. He opened his mouth to breathe and coughed feebly. Everything hurt. There was cold flesh pressed to his mouth. Steve? No, it was limp, not moving, smelled all wrong, like cigarettes and damp sweat. Blood. Bucky opened his eyes and tried to think past the searing pain in his arm. Someone was holding his head up. Steve's small hand. Cradling him. Someone's wound pressed against his mouth, the collar of a dark uniform ripped down to expose flesh.

"Drink. Bucky. Drink."

His neck burned. His mouth felt strange. His clothes were freezing and damp, snow cold against his hands where they lay limply at his sides.

"Bucky. Drink."


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky's arm healed, but the scars didn't fade or ever quite get smooth. As his skin turned from pink to white, the angry red lines turned into charcoal black, like jagged bare branches. Steve noticed how self-conscious it seemed to make Bucky, even when they were alone, even though it shouldn't matter.

It took a long time for them to find Red Skull, but when they did, after they'd broken his bones and laid him out for the morning sun to take, Steve went back inside and picked apart one of the anti-bite suits on the corpses. The arm piece, once detached, was a beautiful gunmetal gray, and he thought the red star on the shoulder was a nice touch.

It fit Bucky perfectly.

**

"This one," Steve said, next to where Bucky was crouched on the floor holding a small one up.

"Busy," Bucky growled against the skin, because if there's one thing Steve should have known it was that he didn't want to be disturbed right now.

" _This_ one," Steve said again, firmer. Bucky pulled away from the body on the floor, licking the blood from his lips and looking for whatever was so fucking important. Another Kraut, more drowning in his uniform than wearing it, couldn't be more than seventeen. He was weeping silently, tears dripping down to where Steve's fingers clenched around his neck.

Steve wanted to feed him. Fine. Whatever. Bucky didn't understand the reason until he grabbed the boy away, pinned him down, sank his teeth in. The sweet taste bloomed on his tongue and he startled, pulling away, wiping his mouth and staring.

"He's never," Bucky stuttered. "He's a."

"I told you." Steve knelt down and laid his cheek against Bucky's metal shoulder, eyes dark, and watched Bucky drink. The virgin's gurgles never quite made it to a scream, and when he died and Bucky let his head drop to the floor, Bucky grabbed Steve and headed for the barracks. He couldn't describe to Steve how good that was. He resolved to show him.

**

Where Steve once held back, he now unleashed. Bucky could handle it now, the roughness and the strength and the bruising that healed before they woke up tangled together.

Steve would press his mouth against Bucky's shoulder and hiss, insisting on leading, on pinning Bucky down and making him take everything. Bucky would pull them into any room with a bed and rip off clothes - they could always get more - and pull Steve to him, fingers tight in his hair for as long as he could get away with it. When Steve got inside him, Bucky left claw marks in the floor.

They found a cabin in Switzerland with a thick fur rug and a fireplace and they stayed for five nights - they could fuck right there and soak in the life-like warmth of the flames, and it was frigid enough outside that the food stayed cold. Bucky held him as the last log died down, forced Steve to be tucked to his chest just this once. Bucky buried his nose in his hair, nuzzling the fine strands of gold. They had done this in Brooklyn, and this floor wasn't their bed and these smells weren't the right ones and Steve didn't shiver anymore, but it was close enough, good enough for now, and Steve fell asleep with arms around him like he deserved.

**

The war would be over one day and then they'd need a new strategy to drink. They didn't talk about it much, but they both knew it.

**

"I've figured it out," Steve said one night, dragging a man behind him with one hand. He must have been six and a half feet tall, 250 pounds, clad in black and wearing some kind of armor that's since been torn apart at the seams. There was a strange insignia peeking out from the part of his arm where the sleeve was shredded off.

"Hm?" Bucky looked up from the book, wondering where Steve found this thing.

"We'll live on assassins." Steve laughed. "We don't need the war to go on forever. We just need governments trying to kill us."

Bucky laughed too. It _was_ kind of funny.

**

It was less funny a few years later, when Bucky woke up screaming and feeling like his heart was on fire. The stake didn't go deep enough to kill, not quite, but Bucky was immobilized as he watched Steve wrestle someone to the ground and pin them.

" _Buck_ ," he roared, and Bucky breathed in deeply and made himself grunt, make some kind of sound, prove that he was - prove he was still there.

"I'm not going to kill you," Steve hissed, hauling the girl to her feet. "I'm going to let him choose. Let him choose what happens to you. How we hurt you, how  _slow_ we do it. We can make it last so long."

Steve held true to his word, holding her (relatively) still as Bucky regained control of his arms, reached up and pulled the wood from his chest inch by painful inch. It healed up slow. The girl tried twice to kick and twist her way out, but Steve's face was grim and his hands were like steel. He stood, waiting, and while Bucky pushed himself up on his hands and blinked, willing the skin to stitch together faster, he stared at the girl. Her face. Her eyes.

"I want her," Bucky said finally, and when Steve grunted and bent her over the bed, neck in his lap, he shook his head. "No. Not like that."

**

Her name was Natalia, and she was beautiful. Her hair was red and as her skin turned to ivory, Bucky only adored her more, playing with the curtain of her hair and nuzzling in to press close-mouthed kisses to her jawline.

Steve didn't say anything about it, but Bucky knew he hated her for it.  _If you'd just let me hold you,_ Bucky thought,  _I wouldn't need this_.  _If you'd just let me touch you like I touch her._

Natalia was useful. She knew many languages they hadn't learned yet, she was good at lying, and nobody knew her face. When it was her turn to pick where they headed, she said Italy, and Bucky prized her so much he said yes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All following chapters are dedicated to the people that asked for 'more shrinkydrinks' when I asked for prompts. Because you guys never give up.

1970.

**

Bucky grimaces and lets the body drop, his teeth glinting white in the mess of blood around his mouth.

"What?" Steve asks impassively, sensing the rant. He’s curled up by the window with a sketchbook.

"They taste  _awful_ ,” Bucky snaps, kicking the body on the floor. “The cigarettes were bad enough, and  _none_  of them are pure, not a fucking one, that’d be too much of a courtesy-“

"They’re  _very_  thoughtless like that.”

"Fuck you. I want a meal that doesn’t have a goddamn  _mushroom_  aftertaste.”

The room fills with heated silence, interrupted only by the soft sounds of Steve’s pencil.

"This fad is  _awful_.”

"Maybe it’s an acquired taste," Steve hums. He knows this isn’t the way to soothe Bucky’s irritation, but sometimes he… doesn’t want to. Sometimes he likes seeing a bit of rage, some light flashing in those dark eyes.

"Where’s Natasha." It’s said brokenly, like a child who needs its comfort toy, and Steve holds back a flinch. That’s  _not_  what he wanted.

"She went out," Steve says calmly. Sometimes he finds himself intentionally saying the most unhelpful thing possible. He doesn't look up as Bucky curses and lands another kick into the body, growling, finally kneeling down and rustling around in the fatigue jacket pockets for a wallet. He comes up with a few bills, but not many. He looks at them, considering.

"You think she really liked that dress?"

What? “What dress?”

"The one in the window. Yesterday, by the harbor."

Steve presses the pencil in a little deeper, giving unnecessary shading beneath the window. “By all means, spend our funds on something slinky for your dame. She  _needs_  something a little more sensuous to wear.”

The door downstairs opens and closes, followed by two sets of footsteps - one stumbling and heavy-footed, mortal, and the other almost impossible to hear. Bucky perks up like a dog whose master just put the keys in the door. Steve rolls his eyes.

"Boys!" Natasha singsongs, in that nice, pleasant voice that means she’s in character. "I brought someone for dinner!"

He’s got an awkward posture, expression curious but reserved, clothes ill-fitted and painfully middle-class. He looks like he’s never seen a festival in his  _life_ , Steve thinks. Maybe not even a naked woman. His name is Phillip, and she met him on campus.

They talk long enough to hear him say nobody's expecting him anywhere tonight. Bucky throws his hand out to pin Phillip to the wall by his throat, moaning against the skin and clamping his other hand over Phillip's mouth. Natasha smiles, looking for all the world like someone who picked out just the right surprise gift for a friend. 

Steve shades harder. 

It takes forever. And it's  _noisy_ , the sucking noises and the muffled screams underneath Bucky's palm. Steve keeps drawing. Bucky finally lets the second body drop, sprawled brokenly over the first. He stands over it, panting, pupils huge, before turning to Natasha and walking into the second bedroom.

(Bucky always loots the bodies as soon as he’s drinking. Unless there’s something really pulling at him.)

Steve is alone now. Snapping his book shut, he moves away from the window and kneels down, dragging a finger across the marks on the dead man’s neck. He licks his finger. Good, he thinks, clean and pure and there’s still some left in there, even after Bucky took his fill, but Steve’s always been too proud for seconds. He loots the body instead, pulling out a few crumpled phone numbers and, finally, a wallet. This one’s more promising. Steve pockets the bills and decides to leave the two bodies in the middle of the room, staining the rug and probably the hardwood underneath. Bucky’s mess. Let him clean it up.

The noises in the next room are… irritating.

"Gonna buy you that dress," Bucky’s whispering, low underneath the sounds of shuffling fabric. "You’re gonna look so good. {You always look so beautiful. Let me show you.}"

**

The next morning, when Steve is reading the paper with his shirt unbuttoned and hair not yet combed, Natasha comes out of the second bedroom and sits down across from him. She’s naked. Typical.

"It’s your turn, Steve."

Steve pointedly doesn’t look up. There’s something about a police shooting in Ohio. It’s both bloody and completely expected.

Natasha waits, and after Steve reads the whole page and turns it, he says, “Are you sure you’ve stayed here as long as you wanted?”

"Yes," she says.

"Alright, then." Steve folds the paper down but does not look at her over it. "I’ll decide by tomorrow."

"I’ll tell Bucky to start packing." She gets up, pushes her chair in, walks out. Her feet pick carefully over dead Phillip’s arm, still outstretched as if to ask for help.

**

Steve picks rural France. They spend most of their money on a small cottage that overlooks a pond, and Bucky and Natasha tolerate it. They spend the rest of the francs on new clothes to look the part, some new records, and Natasha makes a couple appearances in the village. She's picking out prey for later, they all know. The sheep's blood makes for uncomplicated living, but it can only sustain for so long.

Steve paints. There are fewer sunsets than there are night paintings, where the sky has opened up to reveal an expanse of stars and, Bucky realizes, looking at it dry one morning when Steve is in the shower, a tiny pinprick that must be Sputnik.

Édith Piaf plays in the background. Bucky decides he can deal with a little romanticism, swirling the blood in his glass and watching Steve come out of the shower with mussed hair and his usual neutral expression.

"You're running out of 'raw sienna'," Bucky says by way of hello, gesturing to the paints.

"You don't need much of it to do starry skies," Steve says. He hangs his towel up, pulling on his clothes.

"I'll go into town and get you some more." Bucky cants his head. "Do you want anything else?"

Steve looks up at him, searching for the angle. "A shovel," he says finally. "For the stump out back. And for later."

Bucky nods and gets up, taking his jacket off the hook. As he puts it on, he watches Steve button up the last of his shirt. Steve ignores his gaze. Bucky turns and leaves.

**

They stay for two years. Bucky sells the paintings to tourists using his best French accent. Nat picks off the drunk ones, sometimes, luring them back to the cottage at the edge of town with promises of a warm bed and good companionship. They're always careful. Nobody ever comes asking questions.


	5. Chapter 5

It's Bucky's turn, and he chooses Washington DC.

**

1972.

**

"I thought to myself," Bucky says, standing over Peggy Carter and jerking one of the ropes keeping her tied down, "what does Steve Rogers care about?"

Steve's mouth goes dry. "Buck."

"And when I mean Steve Rogers, I mean _Steven. Grant. Rogers_." Bucky grabs Peggy's jaw and yanks it upward, making sure Steve can see the tear tracks rolling down her cheeks, over the gag, down her chin. There are bruises on her face. There are even more on Bucky.

"Bucky."

"And damn, she was -" Bucky pants, laughing. "She was damn hard to get, Stevie. But I had to see. I had to see if I could bring you the one fucking thing you still gave a shit about."

Her hair is styled a little differently, a little longer. Time has treated her well. She's still strong. There's still defiance in her eyes, but it's not directed at Steve. It flashes when Bucky yanks her into sitting up, holds her jawline to make her look where he wants her to look. Bucky is favoring his right leg. Steve wonders what kind of hit Peggy got in to make him do that.

"So whaddaya say, Steve?" Bucky looks up at him, finally, eyes bright and a little crazed. "Finally feeling a tingle? A little something, for the first time in a couple decades?"

Steve finally meets Peggy's eyes, and once he does he can't look away. Something about her expression makes him feel ill. She's not. She doesn't hate him, he realizes. She's scared but she doesn't hate him.

"Oh, Stevie." Bucky lets go of her jaw. "Jesus. Seriously?"

"Bucky, what the hell are you doing?"

"You-" Bucky gestures at his face as his own curls up in disgust. "You do! You fucking love her!"

This has to end. Steve reaches for his pocket knife, steps forward. He has to untie her.

"Is that it? You _do_ feel something? Just not for me?" Bucky steps over Peggy and shoves at Steve with both hands, knocking the pocket knife to the floor, pushing Steve back several feet. "This whole fucking time you - you weren't empty, you just don't _give_ a shit, you don't-"

"Buck, it ain't like that."

"The fuck it isn't! You should see your goddamn face right now, you piece of shit. I can't... fucking. Believe."

"Calm-"

"Tell me you don't love me," Bucky says, stepping forward. He treads on Peggy's skirt when he does, not noticing, not caring. Steve pants for air he doesn't need - stands as big as he can like he's ready for a fight. He can smell Peggy's fear, the blood running down her side, a superficial flesh wound that's dripping heavy from how fast her heart is pumping. Bucky's eyes are still crazed, but they're. Different.

Steve surges forward, uses everything he has to push Bucky back and into the wall, through it, into the next room. The drywall breaks in a cloud of dust and Steve grabs Peggy's restraints without looking at her, rips them open, and chases after Bucky's silhouette before the other man can get back on his feet.

Priorities. He has to keep him busy.

" _Fuck_ you," Bucky slurs, and tears at Steve's jacket, his face, kicks Steve off of him as soon as he's pinned. Steve's thrown into a mirror that cracks in half. He gets up, barrels after Bucky again, kicking him down by the shin and bringing both fists down on his bad shoulder. Bucky screams.

"Don't tell me what I don't feel," Steve rasps. Bucky doesn't get up fast enough, so Steve has time to bring his knee up to connect with his chin, to drive him back and crack his head on the tub. A hairline crack bolts through the porcelain and Bucky's eyes flash black.

"You  _don't_ ," Bucky hisses. He swipes his tongue across his lips, gaze locking with Steve's for a moment before he grabs a broken tile out of the floor and throws it in Steve's face. It explodes in chips and white dust; the time it takes for Steve to wipe it away so he can see again is enough for Bucky to stumble up and sweep Steve's legs out from under him. Steve lands hard and reaches out, not even trying to get up, just grabbing Bucky's boot and pulling with all his might. Bucky falls and Steve crawls on top, punching him until there's a sunburst of cracks in the floor beneath his head.

"You moron. You fucking idiot," Steve pants, hitting him again, fist grazing Bucky's jawline and leaving a smear of wet red and powdery white. "You think you know why I look at you like this? I don't _love_ you?" Another hit. Another. Bucky's not moving, not trying to get up. "I  _failed_ you."

Bucky stays down. Steve hits him again and again, over and over, until the sunburst thickens and there's blood thick on Bucky's face, running through his scalp. His expression is glassy and calm, faraway, and Steve sits back, staring, unable to stop taking in deep lungfuls of air like he needs it.

"You think you  _lost_ me," Bucky murmurs, staring up at the ceiling. "You really think I died down there."

"You  _did_ , Buck." Steve swallows. "And I died in Brooklyn."


	6. Chapter 6

The water spirals down the drain in thick, murky red and Bucky can't sit up on his own. He stays in the tub, healing, listening to the radio, smiling faintly when Steve comes in every so often to read to him from the paper or with some quivering meal that he holds still so Bucky can drink his fill without having to get up.

It's only a few days until Bucky's well enough to get back onto his feet. Steve knows he's better by Sunday, and doesn't say anything when Bucky waits til Tuesday to actually get up and start wandering around the apartment.

**

Bucky starts sleeping in Steve's room.

**

1973

**

Natasha picks Budapest. She likes the change of scenery, the thick crowds to get lost in, the swirl of languages. Steve likes the architecture, the new sketch opportunities, and even sells some drawings now and again to make some honest money.

Bucky doesn't care about Budapest one way or the other; he's just happy that Steve's touching him again.

They spend days in the bedroom overlooking the poorly-lit street, curtains drawn, listening to what few familiar records they could scrounge up and running their fingertips over skin. They talk about New York winters and the War and what it felt like to save up just enough pennies for a trip to Coney Island.

When Bucky crawls on top of him Steve allows it, lets him be sweet, lets him press kisses and whisper whatever he likes. When Bucky finally lowers himself down and takes Steve all the way in, he lets Steve go as hard as he wants.

The bruises are worth it.

The city is building some sort of east-to-west subway system and nobody misses a few migrant workers every now and again. Natasha brings them in with promises of good wine and maybe something else. It's so easy to eat here. Everything is simple.

It's autumn when some American is sent to kill Natasha.

She lets herself be tailed for a while, strangely intrigued by this one, and finally corners him in an alley. He makes a valiant attempt to both get out of her grasp and explain why he hasn't made an attempt on her life yet, not even when she left herself vulnerable three different times when she knew he was watching.

"You didn’t want to kill me," she explains to him patiently, and strokes his hair. "You still don’t."

**

They don't ever learn his given name; Natasha says his new one is 'Sobaka'. Dog. He spends a few weeks in the living room, sleeping on the floor, a dazed mess of a mortal who's been fed just enough of her blood to get hooked but not enough to get sated. Steve is disinterested, but Bucky thinks he's sort of sweet - dusty brown hair, light blue eyes, and fit, very fit, and when Bucky takes Sobaka's clothes off and points to every little nick and scar, the pet obediently tells him where it came from. So many cities, so many fights.

"He was strong, before Natalia got to him," Bucky murmurs to Steve one day.

He is from an American organization, he tells them. They are trying to clean up the world. They try to track the three of them from country to country but it is very hard.

Steve smiles when the pet says this.

Sobaka tells Natasha secrets and she pricks her thumb, feeding him droplets, bringing him steak and fruit and milk to keep him from wasting away. When she drinks from him he shouts and struggles and moans with it, dark sounds in the middle of the night, quiet by sunrise. She's always careful. He doesn't die. He doesn't turn.

Natasha sits him on the floor by her chair, combing his hair and dragging her fingernails gently across the spot on his throat where the bite marks aren't quite healing. He trembles and closes his eyes. He loves her, maybe.

**

The pet is smart. He gives Steve a wide berth, sensing his indifference, but sometimes sits at Bucky's feet when Natasha is sleeping or out hunting. Bucky will ignore him, or give him a task, or, if he's in the mood, run his nails over his skin as he's seen Natasha do. The pulse there always quickens. Sometimes Bucky considers asking Natasha if she'd mind if he had a taste every now and again.

Steve sulks about it for a few weeks, but puts up with it once he sees how many chores he doesn't have to do anymore. Sobaka's good at disposing of bodies, doesn't have to be told how to do it right, kneels on the floor and scrubs the floors clean after he's done. He's worth the cost of some groceries every week. He doesn't speak unless spoken to and he doesn't even need a bed.

**

"They made a werewolf," Sobaka says one night, pressing his lips together to savor the droplets of Natasha's blood.

"Oh?" Steve looks over. Something he actually finds interesting - since everything went extinct so long ago, the only successful transformation the humans have made is himself.

Sobaka inclines his head. "They did it wrong. Or he wasn't right for it, I don't know. He can't control his changes. They have him locked up."

Bucky frowns. "So they can't even use him?"

"No, he-" Sobaka twitches and sighs as Natasha's hand grazes over his bare shoulder, his back, gently encouraging. "They can't give him targets, missions. Once he changes he's all. Rage."

Steve thinks about this, finding it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Something about the idea of the Americans still trying where they failed with him, still making tools they can't use out of people they don't care about... When Bucky catches his eye, Steve suspects he's thinking the same thing.

"How well-guarded is he?" Bucky asks slowly, not looking away from Steve.


	7. Chapter 7

It's raining in America. The pet leads them to the home of someone else from 'Shield'; a blonde woman who used to be his friend. She lets him in when he comes to her door, surprised and happy to see him alive, and goes down easily when he strikes her throat and drags her out. Her security badges are in her car. It's very simple.

(Steve drinks her on the way over. He wasn't hungry at first, but there's something about her smell.)

The man in the metal-lined room doesn't look dangerous. He has dark unkempt hair in loose, sickly curls. He has a thick beard, and his glasses have been broken and fixed several times. He has paper and markers. It looks like they are allowing him to try to work out how to fix himself. The scribbles are indecipherable.

"You're a scientist?" Bucky asks through the slot in the door. The man looks up.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the man asking if you're a scientist," Bucky says, and grins when he sees the fear.

The man quiet for a long time. "I used to work here."

Natasha comes up next to Steve, nudging his arm and pressing a ring of keys into his hand. Steve looks at the keys, thinks about it, then hands them to Bucky. Bucky smirks.

"Why don't we get you some fresh air, pal?"

**

His name is Dr. Banner - Bruce - and he follows silently, stepping over bodies, carrying a 'borrowed' gym bag that he has stuffed full of his papers. He watches Sobaka move the dead blonde to the trunk of the stolen car so there will be room for him in the back seat.

"Who is she?" Bruce asks.

"She's here in case I get hungry again," Steve says. Bruce just nods and doesn't ask anything else.

**

Bruce sleeps on the hotel floor with Sobaka without complaint. In the morning Bucky goes out to buy him fresh clothes, and they go to a roadside diner. Natasha orders her pet sausage and eggs. Bruce asks for the same.

"Any plans?" Bucky asks, and Bruce looks up from his plate. He looks twitchy. Starved. Like he's trying hard not to eat too quick.

"Canada," he says quietly.

Bucky shares a glance with Steve. "What's in Canada?"

"N-nothing." Bruce cuts the sausage, holding onto the fork and knife with shaking hands. "That's why I want to go there."

"<He feels guilty. He doesn't want to hurt anyone else.>" Natasha sighs and picks up Sobaka's fork, feeding him in tiny bites.

Steve shrugs. "<Fine with me. I got him out of there, that's all I really care about. Let him run wild with the caribou if that's what makes him happy.>" He turns to Bruce. "Any place in particular? It's a big country up there."

**

Natasha drives most of the way. Steve looks out the window at the passing scenery, sun warm and strange on his skin. In the back he can see Bucky languid and grinning, head tilted back and nose pressing against the warm scent at Sobaka's pulse point. Sobaka's pupils are huge and dark, holding obediently still but clearly yearning to be either bitten or fed. Probably both.

Banner, the poor wretch, can't keep himself together for the whole ride. They stop somewhere in Michigan so he can lay down in the forest, try to collect himself. Steve watches over him while Bucky negotiates with Natasha on what he assumes will be a session of fucking her pet so hard he can't stand. Steve finds he doesn't mind. Bruce is interesting. His muscles are quivering and pushing against his skin like they're trying to escape.

"How many people have you killed?" Steve asks, kneeling down next to him.

Bruce's fingers are digging into the soil, eyes fixed on one point in the clouds. Maybe the moon is back there. "I don't know," he says. "I've never been around your kind before. If I turn, I can't promise I won't-"

"Don't worry about me." Steve pats his cheek. "And don't worry about you, either. In time you'll learn not to feel so bad about yourself."

Bruce makes eye contact with him for what Steve realizes is the first time. His eyes are tinged with brown and green, sclera changing shape. "I _hate_ him," he whispers, and Steve realizes that Bruce is talking about himself.

**

Steve walks back to the car, Bruce slung over one shoulder. His back paws are dragging limply on the ground behind them, caked with mud and dirt.

"Ran him ragged." Steve jerks his chin toward the back seat, and Natasha opens the door for him, closing it after Steve's arranged him to his satisfaction. "Where are they?"

Natasha points northwest, down a small path in the woods. "I wouldn't expect them back for a while."

"Damn. I wanted your dog to take care of this." Steve pops the trunk and looks down at the blonde, drunk dry. Natasha nudges him over, pulls out the shovel and tucks it under her arm, then picks the girl up under the knees and shoulders.

"It'll give me something to do." She gives him a rare smile and walks off into the forest.

**

They drop Bruce off somewhere in northern Ontario, where the towns are far away and the trees are thick and tall. He doesn't say anything at first, hefting the bag over his shoulder, finally thanking Steve and walking away without looking back.

**

When they find a decent hotel, Steve sends Natasha and her pet out on errands. He bends Bucky over the sink and fucks him raw.

"Still mine?" he asks, watching Bucky's fangs dig sharply into his own lower lip to keep from screaming. Bucky's nodding. Steve's satisfied.


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky finds he enjoys toying with Sobaka at night. Natasha will slip out to find food, or sometimes just leave for a few days to have her own space. She usually does this alone, so Bucky sprawls on the couch and smirks and beckons the pet over with a small gesture. Sobaka always crawls over and lays his cheek against Bucky's cold hand, naked and shivering.

"<Good boy.>"

Finding what will break the pet's silent streak is a pleasant hobby. Bucky drapes back over the arm of the couch, luring Sobaka on top, pulling him down and digging his teeth in enough to hurt. Not quite enough to draw blood. Sobaka whines and digs his fingers into the couch. Bucky scrapes and nips and licks until the pet is begging and undulating his hips in the air, not daring to touch, becoming more and more incoherent and sweat making him slick to the touch. Bucky thinks he could do this for the better part of an hour without getting bored.

When he finally pierces the skin, Sobaka's hips stutter and one hand flies to cover himself, make sure his orgasm doesn't stain Bucky's clothes. Bucky laps at the thin streams of blood, not healing him back up until he's sucked a few times and drawn out a few weak shouts, a few full-body jolts that make the couch move.

The louder Sobaka gets, the more irritated Steve pretends to be afterward. The more irritated Steve pretends to be afterward, the more possessive he allows himself to get when Bucky turns in for the night and joins him in bed.

"You _smell_  like him," Steve accuses, nails digging into Bucky's hip.

"So lick him off me." Bucky goads. He's unable to contain his smile.

**

1976.

**

California. Bucky finds he likes the ocean; the salt spray and the rhythmic sound of the waves are soothing. His favorite time is around dusk, when the crowds have gone home and the sun is dropping behind the earth. The water shifts restlessly back and forth and he curls his toes into the sand, soaking up the warmth before it's gone. Sometimes Natasha comes with him - he'll sprawl out and offer his chest as a pillow for her to rest on. Her hair is shorter than it used to be, with little finger waves that Bucky enjoys stroking his hands through. When they get home the deck smells like oil paints and Steve is listening to the radio, relaxed and just about ready to turn in for the night.

**

1981.

**

They've had Sobaka eight years now and he hasn't aged. Natasha says it's a shame that most of the old tomes were burned so many centuries ago - she'd love to know how long she's going to get to keep him, if letting him drink a couple more droplets from her would be worthwhile. She buys him a compound bow in Brussels and he practices his old trade, barely rusty, making clean veritcal lines of arrows in the trees outside their cottage. When Bucky picks Austria later that year, they spend some time living off the deer he hunts for them. Natalia feeds him venison and he lays his head in her lap, warm and trusting. When he falls asleep she drags a few pinpricks of her blood across his throat to heal up the old marks.

**

1982.

**

Steve gets a bit restless. He picks a city - unusual for him - and drinks in the news he can find in the papers, on the television even, trying to catch up on what they've been isolated from. The world has been turning since they've been hidden away and he wants to be engaged in it again. Bucky recognizes this look from every 4F back home.

Natasha starts gathering intel and strange newspaper articles. After a few weeks, she presents them with a new adventure.

"It sounds like the kid's a moron with more money than sense. Are you sure he didn't just disappear because he drove off a cliff in LA?"

Natasha shakes her head. "Someone took him."

She's never wrong, so they pack. Steve looks sharper. _It's good to have hobbies_ , Bucky thinks smugly to himself, and kisses Natasha's cheek to thank her when Steve goes downstairs to start putting the suitcases in the car.

**

When they meet Stark, Steve insists he must be lying.

"The 'smartest man in the world', the - the engineer of the century, the son of the man who helped _make_ me -" Steve hisses around the deep gash in his cheek, already starting to close up. Below him, Tony is staring not at Steve's fangs or at his venomous glare but at that gash, watching it close and shrink until nothing's left but some dirt and dried blood.

"I swear," Tony pants, "they kidnapped me."

"And left you in a _lab?_ You were helpless in a _lab?_ " Steve pulls one hand away from Tony's throat to gesture expansively at the Hydra bunker, packed to rafters with weaponry. "A lab full of-"

"They have someone important to me."

Bucky watches as Steve goes still, calculating. He gestures behind him for Natasha to come over, and she kneels down, pressing her fingertips to the mortal's pulse. She's always been better at this.

"Say it again," she says, and he looks at her, real fear in his eyes now.

"They have. Someone. Important to me."


	9. Chapter 9

The thin young woman is asleep in a cell reminiscent of Bruce's. Bucky opens the slot in the door and breathes in deeply - nothing special. As young as Stark, early twenties. Not pure. Shame.

"So what's the plan?" Tony's asking, flipping through keys. They aren't real keys anymore, Bucky notices, but little cards with black strips on them. "I mean, you guys came here for something, what-"

"We heard someone had started grabbing people off the street to help them build weaponry." Steve shrugs, as if that's enough. He seems to make it a point that it's not because Tony was special in any way.

"Right, so, disarming the enemy, that makes sense. I'm sure Hydra knows you're out there and they, you know, _hate that_ , or whatever... my dad mentioned The Great Failed Experiment a few times when he's had a few glasses, how you fucked off and went to tear across Europe and eat Naz... oh. Okay. There." He goes weirdly quiet as the door unlocks and swishes open automatically. Bucky takes a few steps to the left so he can watch the woman wake up at the sound, open her eyes, see her... boyfriend, husband, brother, whatever. She looks like she doesn't quite believe it.

"Mortals in love," Natasha says, licking some of the guard's blood off of her wrist. "Kind of sweet."

Tony is holding her close and murmuring in her ear. Steve is canting his head to the left in the way that means he's listening, so Bucky doesn't bother to, talking to Natasha instead. "Is anyone else annoyed that we spent our formative years tearing these idiots down, and they have the nerve to rebuild?"

Steve grunts in assent. His eyes are locked on Tony, distrusting. "It's pretty rude."

Tony encourages the woman to lean on him as they walk back. She looks weak. It's possible they were starving her. "Okay. Let's swing back by the weapons lockers and then get the fuck out of here. Unless there's something else you guys have on your to-do list."

Steve waves it away. "We don't need weapons. And neither do you. Everyone's already dead." Somewhere, Sobaka is picking out the youngest corpses and loading them in the trunk of the car. Nothing else needs doing.

"Yeah, and I kind of doubt that _all of Hydra is in this one bunker they were keeping me in_." Tony's rolling his eyes. "And besides, you might have your nice fangs and super strength and Erskine's solar-shield enzyme, but I for one? Need some firepower if I'm gonna sleep well tonight. And the rest of, you know, maybe my entire life. Lots of firepower."

Steve shoots Bucky a flat look. "What if we free him and then we eat him? Getting him to the entrance counts as freeing, right?"

"Please." It's the woman. Her voice is raspy and broken, like she's been screaming. "We'll leave now like you said. Please don't hurt him."

Steve frowns. He pushes her bangs off her forehead, ignoring Tony's thunderous expression, moving in to look at her face. She stares back at him, refusing to look away. Finally, Steve steps back.

"You're lucky I like her more than you," Steve tells Tony. "Come on. Get your stupid guns. You two can have some of Sobaka's food on the way back to civilization."

**

The woman's name is Pepper. She guzzles down half of Sobaka's canteen like she was dying of thirst. (Maybe she had been.) The pre-packaged food is next, downed in minutes. Sobaka hands it all over obediently, unbothered, knowing Natasha will spoil him later for sharing so nicely.

Bucky watches with interest as Tony tries to get Pepper to show him her back. It's five minutes of quiet arguing, but she finally lets him hike her shirt up, and Bucky can see Tony's ashen face at whatever he sees. They were probably hurting her and showing him pictures. Or making him watch.

Bucky feels a slight pang of sympathy. Humans don't stand a chance against organized militia, after all.

"Anything fresh?" He asks, and lifts his eyebrows when Tony looks like he's ready to crawl across the seat and punch him.

"You sick _fuck_ , I should-"

" _Tony._ " Pepper wraps thin fingers around his hand and pulls it down into his lap. She looks like she's halfway to passing out, but she's going to keep him in check anyway, going to play nice with their saviors/captors. Bucky can see why Steve liked her. Smirking, he holds up his hand and bites down gently on his thumb to bring up one droplet of blood.

"I promise, it's not going to turn her."

"No," Tony hisses, "just turn her into a _lapdog_ like-"

"Sobaka both _drinks_ Natasha's blood and is deeply, hopelessly in love with her. Your dame is safe." Bucky wiggles his thumb at Pepper. "I rub it on the wounds, they close up. No side effects. Easy like Sunday morning."

She turns in her seat to present her back to him, and Bucky smiles lewdly over her shoulder at Tony. (Steve will probably love that he managed to irritate this man further.) Bucky uses one hand to hold her clothes up and the other to leave faint red streaks across her ribs, her spine, where the lash marks are. One of them takes four stripes to close all the way, and it _still_ stays a little risen from the rest of the flesh. Bucky quirks his lips in a sad pout. He lets go of her shirt and lets it fall back down.

"Now you just feed her a couple dozen hamburgers, and she'll be good as new."


	10. Chapter 10

The bandages under Stark's shirt are caked with blood, but it's not a wound, not exactly. Sobaka describes what he saw as a device; something circular and metallic lodged in the man's chest.

"It glows."

"I thought my ears were ringing after the fights." Steve shares a look with Natasha and Bucky. "There's really something in his chest making sounds. Okay. Any idea what it is?" Sobaka shakes his head. Steve sighs. "This doesn't change anything. We drop them off at a hospital, we move on."

"We drop them off at a hospital when he's got something lodged in his chest?"

"Bucky, I _don't care_. They're going to notice he's Tony Stark no matter what, it's not like he can pull off being John Doe. Device or no device." Steve turns. "Natasha, it's your turn to pick where we go."

"I haven't decided yet." Natasha blinks innocently.

"You haven't-" Steve cuts himself off, rolling his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Fine. I guess we're staying in Nevada until you make up your mind."

**

Pepper opens up to Natasha, and Natasha reports back. Pepper was - is - Tony's assistant. They were kidnapped on the way to a scheduled retreat in the mountains. Pepper had bargained Tony into doing it to get him away from the party scene and some worrisome new addictions.

The scorch marks on the bunker walls were from several weeks before, when Stark had rigged up a protective suit and tried to escape with Pepper.

If he'd gone straight from the weapons lab to the entrance, he would have made it. Getting Pepper and doubling back gave the guards enough time to bring him down.

(That's where most of the lash marks had come from. Yinsen, Tony's abductee assistant, didn't survive what they did to him.)

Tony wants to follow them and help them take down Hydra. He wants revenge.

**

When Steve wakes up the next morning, Bucky and Natasha have already gone out for supplies. Sobaka is perched on the arm of the couch Pepper is resting on. He's watching Tony do something with his quiver. The hotel TV is disassembled on the floor around him and he's attaching things to arrow heads.

Steve leans over to look. "You had trick arrows when you worked at SHIELD, right?"

Tony's head snaps up. "You were with SHIELD? Are you - you _are_ , you're Clint Barton."

"I was," Sobaka agrees mildly, head tilted. "Why do you know that?"

Tony looks frazzled. "I hacked their intel when they tried to recruit me out of MIT, they - even back then, you'd been MIA for _years_."

"They sent me to kill Natasha." Sobaka shrugs as if it's not important. Tony clearly wants to ask why, but Pepper's sitting up, pushing with arms that are shaking from disuse.

"We'll lie for you," she says, "if you want us to. We can say we don't know who got us out."

Steve smiles thinly. "Very considerate. But thanks, we don't need your help."

When Natasha and Bucky come back, they have sandwiches and fresh clothes. The two mortals eat and discuss their plans. Tony wants to drop Pepper off at a hospital. Pepper wants him to come with her, or at least tell her what he's planning on doing. Steve goes out to the deck to get some air and give his ears a break.

**

Tony draws up plans. He wants to go back to his estate (he has an _estate_ , of _course_ ) and put some things together. More weaponry. Once that's assembled and loaded, they can follow whatever leads Natasha and Clint can put together to find the most vital Hydra base. Tony says he's overheard talks of one in Odessa, but it's just R&D. The leaders are somewhere else. Maybe in Europe.

Steve knows Natasha will use her 'turn' to go along with the plan, to follow the leads. A big part of Steve wants to dump Tony at the nearest walk-in clinic, Pepper too by extension, but he knows it's just his desire to be contrary. The Nazis, Hydra, used to be something Steve was willing to give up everything to help stop. Bucky doesn't expect him to be that person anymore, but he also knows nothing hurts Bucky more than when he can't see at least a few traces of the kid from Brooklyn.

Hydra. Europe again. Fine.

**

"We should at least tell Obie we're alive," Pepper keeps telling Tony. "He can keep a secret. He's probably worried sick."

Tony never answers. Steve's not Natasha, but he sees the way Tony presses his lips together in a tight line and thinks he knows exactly why Tony's not planning on telling 'Obie' a damn thing.

**

Bucky buys Tony a sketchbook and a pack of pencils. Tony sketches the whole way to California - tiny writing that fills the margins, equations. Sketches of something smooth and metallic, like armor.


	11. Chapter 11

The main house - because there are _several_ buildings, but Tony only lives in one of them - is opulent and ridiculous, bordered with palm trees and boasting a view of the city below. Steve asks why people with money are so dead set on making things as ugly as possible. Tony says Steve would have to ask his father about that, except that he's dead.

The interior's not much better. Natasha's grinning because it's obviously modeled after a traditional villa, with open spaces and what are probably imported tiles; almost immediately, Bucky starts opening all the doors, peeking inside and whistling.

"You keep a real pig sty, Stark."

"It was a lot nicer before the cops came in and turned everything upside down." Tony's looking through the fridge, grabbing whatever food hasn't expired and carrying it to an elevator. "I'll be downstairs. Forever. Make yourselves comfortable. If the help comes, please don't eat them. They've put up with too much for such a grisly end."

Tony disappears down the elevator and Steve finally sits down and looks out the window. The view is... well, once you look past the city to the water, it's not bad. He hears the click of heels, and then Pepper is carefully laying herself down on the couch across from him.

"There's no guest bed in here anywhere?" Steve asks.

"There are several," she says simply, and closes her eyes. "I'm too sore to walk to any of them."

Something in Steve twinges a little, and he hates himself for it. "Shouldn't you be checking to see if your boyfriend left you anything edible in the fridge?"

"I ate this morning. My stomach's still too shrunken to have anything for a few hours at least."

She doesn't complain or get overwhelmed with anything - just knuckles down and handles it. Steve suspects he likes this girl because she reminds him of Peggy. He sighs and looks out to the water again.

**

Bucky comes out of what must be the main bedroom with an armful of wooden hangers - silk shirts, slacks, a couple suit jackets. He seems determined to overcome his disappointment that none of it fits him by playing dress-up with Sobaka. Sobaka becomes much more enthusiastic with the whole affair once Bucky starts making a point of fixing the collars and smoothing the shirt fronts down for him. Steve gets to his feet and gathers Pepper up, carrying her into the bedroom and dropping her onto the bed without waking her. He shuts the door behind him and watches Sobaka try on a black suit with a cummerbund.

"For undercover missions," Bucky says mock-seriously, presenting him with a grand gesture. "We'll get the hem on the slacks let out. It'll be perfect then."

"Well, Natasha will love it," Steve allows, feeling a better mood on its way. "Do you think you might be able to ransack him something a little less high-profile?"

"I don't think our kind host does anything _but_ high-profile, but I'll-" Bucky stops mid-turn when he sees the bedroom door's been shut, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Steve's expression and rolling his eyes. "Okay. Maybe there are some more clothes in the other closets."

He trots up the stairs, Sobaka in tow.

**

Natasha isn't in the house. Steve suspects she left to go check the perimeter, check for anyone with eyes on the estate.

Maybe Steve has gotten soft. Or just overconfident. He doesn't care about staying vigilant, doesn't get concerned - he hasn't had a close call since he and Bucky took down Red Skull and left him to bake. Sometimes he thinks it was a mistake not to at least get a brawl in with Bruce before the man fled to go become a hermit. He wasn't immortal, but damn, he'd been fast. It would've been a good scrap.

The floor vibrates briefly as something loud and mechanical happens in the basement. Steve brings himself back to the present and sprawls on the couch, breathing in the remaining scents and thinking.

Maybe this Hydra thing will be a good diversion. Maybe it'll take a few years to rip them out by the roots, and he'll stop feeling so damned restless and bitter about things. Fighting for a bigger purpose used to cheer him up. Motivate him.

Something heavy drops several floors beneath him. The door to the bedroom opens and Pepper is there, sleep-woozy and hair askew.

"Is that Tony?" she asks quietly.

"Must be," Steve says. "Go back to sleep."

Pepper doesn't ask how she got to the bed in the first place. The door closes.

**

Bucky finds a room with a washer and dryer and reappears later with a warm, almost hot comforter.

"C'mere," Bucky says, and when Steve refuses to get up, Bucky just sits down on the couch next to him, throwing half of the blanket across Steve's shoulders. "S'like the warm sand in Spain. Nice, huh?"

Steve curls his thin fingers around the fabric, reluctantly admitting to himself that the warmth is indeed very nice. His skin soaks it up, flushes with it, and Bucky grins victoriously and leans in to press his lips to the spot above Steve's collar. "Quit being so smug," Steve murmurs.

"No." Bucky chuckles. "It suits me."

The patio door slides open and Natasha walks in, skin aglow with a few fresh meals in her. She looks at the uncharacteristic scene, head cocked, before sitting on Bucky's other side and leaning in to the fabric.

"Nice," she comments.

"They're all dead?" Steve asks.

"Very. Most of them said Obidiah hired them. Tony was sold out." Natasha makes a guttural purring sound and Steve can feel her move on the couch, pressing closer until she's practically draped over the comforter covering Bucky's shoulder and back. "Which of you thought of this? It's wonderful."

"Bucky's the hedonist," Steve says lightly. Sobaka trots down the stairs, probably lured down by Natasha's voice, and sits down on the tile at her feet. Steve gives him a few minutes of bliss before sending him out with some money to get food for himself and the woman sleeping in the other room.

**

Two days pass. Natasha lounges in gauzy nightgowns, _tanning_ of all things, and Steve enjoys the endless hot showers with Bucky moaning helplessly against the tile.

Finally, Tony reemerges from the basement.

"Is that an anti-bite armor?" Bucky squints. "You know we can still rip that apart, right?"

"For god's sake." Tony's voice comes out of the mask buzzing and strange. "It's for fighting Hydra, not _you_."

"Well, you look ridiculous, and it's noisy." Steve gets up and stretches. "If you die, I'm not carrying your clunky body back for Pepper to bury."

"Hold on. Is the 'pet' wearing my Versace?"

Natasha smiles catlike and strokes down the arm of the collared shirt Sobaka's wearing. "Purple suits him."


	12. Chapter 12

 Bucky finds her sitting in the gardens. She doesn't turn around, but she must know he's there.

"The roses," she says, as if they were in the middle of a conversation, "remind me of Spain."

Bucky thinks back, joining her on the stone bench. "Sobaka cut up a bunch of bodies and buried them in the cottage yard," he recalls. "Planted a really nice garden on top of it all."

Natasha sighs, a little wistful. "It had all my favorites."

"And so well-fertilized, too." Bucky smirks. "Feeling ready for tomorrow?"

"It's just humans and guns. I think I'm starting to understand how Steve feels."

Bucky cocks his head; Natasha almost never mentions Steve. "How Steve feels?"

"Bored. Like nothing's a challenge." She shrugs. "But I think this will be nice anyway. Doing some good will cheer him up, no matter how much he pretends it doesn't matter. Maybe we'll even make a habit of it."

"Maybe." Bucky thinks about this - imagines the continent-hopping vacations shifting into something like the James Bond movies, with fights and car chases and international villains getting ripped apart. Something more glossy and enchanting than the war was. Something they can take a break from when they need it.

Natasha's moving. Bucky freezes as she pulls her legs up to cross them at the ankle on the far end of the bench, leaning back in his lap so her hair splays across his thighs. She looks so calm. She always does.

"You've hardly made a pass at me since you got your pet," Bucky says quietly.

"You've been busy." Natasha arches her eyebrows, wry and unapologetic. "Now. Stroke my hair like you used to. Tell me my eyes are like the stars."

They kind of are, Bucky thinks, but he knows better than to agree with her.

**

Tony's repainted one of his company's bigger transport vehicles to look less conspicuous; some off-brand moving company that may or may not actually exist. They take it down the highway, toward the spot Natasha marked on the map.

Pepper hadn't come out of the bedroom to see them off. Bucky wonders if she and Tony had a fight.

"So that hunk of junk _flies?_ " Steve is still looking, unimpressed, at the mechanical suit rattling in the corner. Bucky thinks it looks kind of foreboding, unmanned like it is. There's a hollow spot in the middle, and he thinks back to the 'glowing thing' Sobaka said was in Tony's chest.

"It slices, it dices, it _pul_ verizes, it's going to level them to the fucking ground." Tony doesn't look away from the road, both hands on the wheel. "Assuming your girlfriend's intel is right and there actually is an underground bunker in the middle of the Arizona desert."

Steve shares a discomforted look with Natasha - the mere implication that they're some kind of couple is bizarre to say the least. "Assuming you can actually put your foot down on that pedal and get us there sometime soon, you'll have every opportunity to show off." Steve says mildly. "I'm getting hungry, and my 'girlfriend' doesn't let me drink her pet."

Tony rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath. The engine lurches a little as it shifts into a higher gear.

**

By the time they climb out of the smoking ruins, it's nightfall. The sky is open and clear and lit with stars. It's like Bucharest, Bucky thinks, mind swimming a little as blood drips unnoticed down his chin. Like the sky in Bucharest, or maybe Craiova, after the rain came down heavy and angry for hours before letting up and the constellations just came out, just like this, back when his body had been cold for just a few years, everything still felt new and different, the sky was, it was so dark and so bright all it once, it was,

"Are you okay?"

Bucky looks over. Tony is walking alongside him, gears whirring, and he's looking down at Bucky's left arm where his shirtsleeve has been torn aside. The long black scars are visible, jagged and thick up the ridges of his bicep.

Bucky looks down. Smiles. Laughs. "I'm fine."


End file.
